


Friendship

by lilidelafield



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya has some news for Napoleon . . .<br/>A picfic challenge from LJ<br/>(sorry, pic will not post)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship

Napoleon Solo entered the office he shared with his partner, and paused just inside the door. Illya had hurriedly buried his head beneath the desk and seemed to be shuffling with something in the depth of his desk drawer. Presently he emerged, his face carefully blank, took up a fresh sheet of paper and inserted it into his typewriter.

"You ok?" Solo asked, in as off-handed a voice as he could muster.

"Of course. Do you have a date tonight Napoleon?"

Napoleon shook his head.

"Not tonight. Why? You have any suggestions?"

"If you have a couple of hours free, would you like to come up to mine for a drink? I'll order in a pizza or something…"

Napoleon furrowed his brow.

"Thanks Illya, that'll be good. Are you sure you're all right?"

Illya gave a lop-sided smile and nodded.

"I will admit you caught me off-guard a moment ago. It was a blast from the past, that is all. I'll tell you about it later."

Napoleon nodded and, his brow still furrowed, sat down to start on his increasingly tall pile of paperwork.  
It was almost eight o'clock before he arrived at Illya's. Most of that time had been spent ploughing his way steadily through paperwork, even though Illya had graciously taken a third of the pile himself, at six o'clock, he had put his typewriter away, said good evening and left work. Napoleon, having no alternative, worked on. Now, he was tired, sweaty, thirsty, famished and not a little discouraged. What he really wanted to do was go home, lock his doors, have a long soak in a hot bath and go to bed. He had promised his partner he would come however, and Napoleon was a man of his word.

Illya greeted him with his customary shy smile, but the smile faded slightly as he studied the lines on his friend's face.

"A long, boring and frustrating day?"

"That was not helped by three of my people turning in their reports two minutes before I was about to leave, forcing me to stay for a further hour to debrief them and read through and sign off their reports for the old man. Honestly Illya, it's a wonder we ever have time to get out into the field ourselves."

"That's why I am in no hurry to take on your job." Illya replied, placing a large glass of whisky in his hand. "Here, you look like you could use this. Sit down and relax."

Napoleon sat on Illya's sofa, with an audible sigh. Illya poured himself a glass of vodka and sat beside him.

"The food will be delivered in half an hour."

"Pizza?"

"Actually, no. Steakhouse specials."

Napoleon nodded, his mouth watering at the thought. How did Illya always know, even before he realized himself what he wanted? He took a long sip of his drink and sat regarding the glass for a minute before he turned his head.

"I had the impression that there was a particular reason you asked me here this evening?"

Illya nodded, and reached over the back of the sofa, almost spilling his drink in the process. He brought out a small photograph album. Most of the pockets were empty. There were a couple he had seen before, notably the photo Illya had taken of his late brother Mikhail the last time they had been together. Napoleon couldn't help pausing once again, marveling at how much the young Mikhail looked like his partner. He turned the page. This was a rather unusual picture of a large group of men, mostly older men, but of mixed ages grouped around two small tables where a rather sizeable chess tournament seemed to be going on. The rest of the album was empty. Napoleon glanced up.

"This is what you were looking at this morning isn't it? Memories perhaps?"

"In a sense." Illya took the photo from its protective plastic cover and looked closely at it.

 

"I remember some of these men…the younger men in this picture were old men when I knew them. This picture belonged to my Uncle Dimitry."

Napoleon's eyes widened.

"The sweet old man we visited in Kyiv? Living in your old house?"

Illya nodded.

"I received a few things via special courier from section one Moscow, Wilhelm Tarasov. Uncle Dimitry passed away three days ago. He was very old and he died peacefully in his sleep."

Illya was clearly trying to keep the conversation upbeat, but all the same his eyes were very sad.

"Oh Illya, I'm so sorry. I know he meant a lot to you, too."

Illya nodded and smiled slightly.

"Yes. It hasn't really sunk in yet that I have lost the old man. But anyway, I didn't ask you here for sympathy or anything. Mister Tarasov, knowing how close we were, took a close  
personal interest in making sure that Dimitry's will, and his belongings were sent to me."

Illya handed the photo back to his friend.

"Uncle Dimitry is the young man in front with his back to the camera. He would have been about…forty there, forty-two maybe? Many of those men came from our local area, or neighbourhoods close by."

"It's good you have this picture as a momento." Napoleon said, studying it. Illya nodded.

"He wrote me a letter when he knew he was getting sick and might die. Most of it is private, but there is one part of it I want to read to you." Illya put his glasses on and started to read;

"…one of the things I have learned my dear boy is the value of true friendship. There is nothing in this world like it, and nothing can ever replace it. So few people are fortunate enough to experience the value of a true friend, someone who will even give up his life for yours in a heartbeat. You have found that Illyusha, in that sterling young man you brought to my door that day. You know true friendship. Do not let it go without a fight…"

Eyes slightly damp, Illya folded the letter carefully and put it away. Napoleon was looking stunned and humbled. He looked down at his hands and mumbled;

"Wow, what a wonderful testimony, and from a wonderful old man."

Illya nodded.

"Yes, he was always the very wisest man I ever knew. He had few belongings, but what he had Mister Tarasov has sent to me. A few paintings he owned, some he painted himself. Nothing very valuable, but things that mean a lot to me. Things that bring back good times we spent together…"

Napoleon smiled and nodded.

"Real treasures never to let go. Those are always the most valuable."

Illya walked to his cupboard, and brought out a wooden box, long and quite heavy.

"Napoleon, this was part of the bequest. I really want you to have this. I think he too would approve."

Napoleon stared in surprise.

"You want to pass on to me…I couldn't Illya…"

Illya smiled.

"You can. Open it up."

Slowly and gently, Napoleon lifted the lid and stared in stunned silence at the contents of the box. A complete set of green chessmen, larger than customary, heavy to hold in exquisite complex detail. Napoleon held up the figure of the king and marveled at the incredible fine detail.

"Illya, is this what I think it is?"

The Russian nodded.

"These chessmen are original Chinese jade, imported to Russia from China many years ago. They were the only thing my great grandfather owned that was not looted by the Nazis. That was because Uncle Dimitry was very good at hiding things. There never was an original board. This board was made from Russian pine about one hundred and fifty years ago."

Napoleon was stunned.

"Illya, you can't give this to me! It must be worth a fortune! It's your family heritage."

Illya shook his head.

"Napoleon, this chess set means the world to me. And it will mean even more to me to be able to give it as a gift to my best friend."

Seeing that Napoleon was still resistant at the generosity of the gift, he tried to explain, willing the man to understand.

"Napoleon, you are a wealthy man, and there is little I can give you that you do not already have. To me, a gift that means the most is one that comes from the heart and not the pocket. A flower, a handwritten note, a walk in the park. This chess set is valuable in a monetary way, but it has a great deal of sentimental significance to me because of the memories it engenders. This is why I really would like to give it to you my friend, as a gift from the heart. I want you to always be reminded how much I value your friendship."  
Napoleon continued staring at Illya for several seconds, still trying to digest his words.

"You really mean it, don't you?"

Illya smiled.

"You have given me your friendship, you have also shared your family with me, and they have accepted me with open arms. I have not had that kind of acceptance for a very…very long time. I would be very happy if you will accept it. A gift of friendship."

Napoleon swiped hurriedly at a tear that looked like escaping from his eye, and swept Illya into a slightly diffident hug.

"Thank you my friend, I don't know what to say…it's beautiful and I will treasure it more than you know."

Illya's smile brightened the room for a minute, then he cleared his throat and turned as the doorbell rang.

"Hmm. That will be our steaks. I hope you are hungry?"

"Famished."

As the two men sat down to enjoy their meal, Illya grinned slightly.

"So my friend, now what shall we talk about?"

Napoleon picked up the old photo that was still sat on the arm of the sofa beside him.

"Tell me some more about your Uncle Dimitry?"


End file.
